I am tired
by anonmachine
Summary: When you have lived for centuries, when you have lost count of all the lives that you have taken, when you lose all will to go on living this cursed life, what then? You'd give up as I have given up...


**Disclaimer**: I do not own the movie Van Helsing. I am merely using the universe as a setting for my writing.

**Author's Note**: I only own the character which I have written in first person. The character here is not any vampire in specific. I do not even know the gender of this character, though I'd prefer think this vampire as a female.

This is a ficlet, so it may not have much of a plot. Enjoy anyway.

**Another Note**: This is set in present day.

* * *

_I am sorry._

Guilt seeped briefly into me before the ravenous hunger overcame everything. I drank deeply, drawing the crimson life from her veins.

I cannot help myself. I have to do this.

I don't think she'd understand. It is not because she is too young, only eight. No, it is more than age. No one would understand. It is complicated.

Her helpless struggling ceased – she slowly succumbs to the darkness I bring her.

_I am sorry, little one._

With my keen hearing, I hear her laboured breathing slow and eventually stop. I pull away.

Blank ice orbs stared back at me, her cherry lips open in a silent scream. I stroke the blonde curls sadly.

It started to snow.

A sharp scream stabbed the cold peace. I swung around, startled. A young woman, wrapped warmly against the winter chill, stared in horror.

The brown packages under her arms fell with muffled thumps into the snow. I rose slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes… a beautiful shade of blue.

I glanced back at the child, at the empty innocence, at the pretty blue eyes.

The mother trembled. Self consciously, I licked a tear of blood away from the corner of my lips, my ivory fangs glinted coldly.

I brushed past the woman, who was still standing in shock.

'I am sorry.' The three words slipped past my lips. I forced myself to continue, to ignore the sweet elixir running through her veins, to ignore the desperate pounding of her heart.

I pulled my coat around me more tightly; not because I was cold, but because I sought to find some kind of comfort in the thick material.

I flinched, despite myself, despite taking so many lives all the years to support my damned soul, when I heard the heart wrenching cry of the young woman when she crouched beside her lifeless child.

I paused when I reached the dark canal. I leaned over the railings to peer at the lapping abyss. I remember the time before all time.

When I was young. Before this dead curse was set upon me.

I wasn't afraid to walk in the sun – I had loved the golden heat on my skin.

It is odd, that my father was a priest. Odd because of what I have become now. I use to follow him to the old church. I remember how I use to crawl beneath the pews to hide.

I am sad, for now I cannot even draw near holy ground before my insides writhe and twist in agony. I am sad because I cannot feel the love of God anymore. I have fallen from my innocent life. I am drenched with tears that I have caused, the blood that I have drank, and the lives which I have taken.

I am the evil that waits in the darkened alley – waiting for my next victim.

I hate my existence. I wish not to cause harm on you mortals. Sometimes, I wish that I have enough willpower to stop myself from drinking the souls from your body. But I cannot resist. Once the insatiable hunger starts, the sharp tingling in my fangs, I lose myself.

When I was first changed, I tried to stop myself. I locked myself in my room, refusing to come out. As the days past, the burning desire built within me. I remember that day so clearly. Until this day, I still shed tears when I recall that hour.

My father was worried, for I denied his request for me to unlock the door.

He ordered the servants to bring the door down when my shrieking began. In my pain and hunger, I tore at my hair and at my clothes. I smashed mirrors and tables.

The terrible throbbing of my fangs pressing against my lips hurt me. The ache nearly drove me mad…

And when the door came down, my father was first to step into the room.

I hate myself for what I did next. I dimly remember, as if my body was not my own and I was possessed by the devil himself - I leapt at the man I loved and tore his throat, spilling his blood. I drank feverishly.

The servants were statued in horror and I brought them down, one by one, and taking their blood.

Only when then the did the dark hunger left me and rational thought returned. Of course, it was already too late.

_I am sorry, father…_

I have lived for so long, yet my memories are fresh. I can still smell the tangy tobacco my father use to smoke if I close my eyes.

I tire of living like this.

I closed my eyes, and whispered in my heart, 'Dear God, if you are indeed merciful and forgiving, forgive me of the sins that I have done to sustain my soulless existence. Have mercy on me. I have never wished for this and you know that I have for everyday since he changed me, wished for death instead.'

Yes, even now, I still pray and talk to the Lord, hoping that he may understand.

I can hear the sirens now… nearly lost in the frosty air…

I can hear wailing of ambulances.

I remain where I stand. I lifted my gaze to the opposite side of the canal. I can hear them, the sounds of their boots muffled on the soft snow.

_I give up…_

The sounds of the safety catches going off and I can smell the acrid hint of gunpowder.

They surround me warily, the black nozzles pointed at my back, knowing of my nature.

'Put your hands behind your head!' I hear one command, his voice having an odd hollow quality to it, as he was speaking from within his helmet.

I turned slowly to face them, the red dots on my chest dancing and they kept their aim at me.

I could hear the helicopter in the distance, long before the powerful white light cast a circle around me.

I stared at them, not moving.

'Put your hands behind your head!'

I looked away, looked towards the direction from which the breeze blew. I hooded my eyes against the cold sting of the wind.

They were yelling orders at me, threatening to shoot if I did not comply.

Slowly, I lifted my arms and laced my marble white fingers behind my head.

I took a step towards these armed men and was slightly amused when they backed away.

'Turn around!'

I did so, shuffling my feet.

Almost immediately, I heard pounding feet and years of guarded wariness and instinct made me want to spin around to attack, or to even defend myself. But I fought off the urge.

Someone slammed bodily into me, knocking me to the ground. I did not struggle.

I let them put the restraints on.

They were foolish. They didn't know that I could break the flimsy chains that bind my wrist if I wanted too. They didn't know that I could break free and kill half a dozen of them before they would even know what had hit them.

But I didn't do any of that.

I let them take me; I let them drag me, sparing me no dignity as they forced me into the back of a waiting van.

I watched calmly as they fastened more chains to my being, fastening me to the back.

I could snap these chains too – it'd be like snapping thread.

For all my petite appearance, I am strong. I have grown stronger over the years.

They kept their gun cocked and pointed at me, their eyes watching my every move. I ignore them and settled myself more comfortably into the seat.

I offered a small smile but received none in return.

I wonder what they would do? Would they sentence me to death?

I wonder…

I wonder, but I find that I do not really care for my fate now. I am old, very old. I am tired of existing like this, let them decide.

For if they choose to end my life, at least I can at last see the Lord and beg for my soul. Maybe I might even see my father again.

If they choose to keep me alive, they would have to feed me. And I would not have to suffer the guilt of killing when I feed. Let them kill for me. I would take what they would offer.

I do not care.

They might even release me… but I doubt it.

I wonder where we are going, and I ask, but they do not reply, these people clad in black. I am not bothered.

I can smell the sharp fear and salty sweat on them. They are very afraid of me.

They have nothing to fear – I would not harm them.

Do they not know that I only kill for my fill? Do they not understand?

I do not think so. They see me as a monster. They all have. Humans have always feared me, centuries ago and even now.

Only animals treat me indifferently. It is because they understand that I hunt to live. I do not kill for pleasure. It is sad to see that humans kill other humans for no reason.

The guard on my left fidgeted and pulled out a syringe filled with clear liquid. His hand is shaking as he reaches for my elbow. I hear him hiss in surprise under his breath when his fingertips brush my cold arm. His touch is warm, and his hands are pleasantly smooth and un-calloused.

He pushed the metal beak under the skin and pumps the sedative into me.

He quickly withdraws the syringe and reaches for his gun. I try to smile reassuringly at him but at the sight of my fangs glinting in the dark, he retreats further into his corner.

Soon, I feel tired, as if my energy has been drained from me. I breathe slowly, letting the drugs lulled my senses to sleep.

I close my eyes…

I do not know if I would ever wake up again…

* * *

The End

Feedback or constructive criticism welcomed.


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